CHAPTER XXIV
The shock of the discovery that Blake had escaped brought Philip halfto his knees before he thought of Celie. In an instant the girl wasawake. His arm had tightened almost fiercely about her. She caught thegleam of his revolver, and in another moment she saw the empty spacewhere their prisoner had been. Swiftly Philip's eyes traveled over themoonlit spaces about them. Blake had utterly disappeared. Then he sawthe rifle, and breathed easier. For some reason the outlaw had nottaken that, and it was a moment or two before the significance of thefact broke upon him. Blake must have escaped just as he was making thatlast tremendous fight to rouse himself. He had had no more than time toslink away into the shadows of the night, and had not paused to hazarda chance of securing the weapon that lay on the snow close to Celie. Hehad evidently believed that Philip was only half asleep, and in themoonlight he must have seen the gleam of the big revolver leveled overhis captor's knee.
Leaving Celie huddled in her furs, Philip rose to his feet and slowlyapproached the snow hummock against which he had left his prisoner. Thegirl heard the startled exclamation that fell from his lips when he sawwhat had happened. Blake had not escaped alone. Running straight outfrom behind the hummock was a furrow in the snow like the trail made byan otter. He had seen such furrows before, where Eskimos had wormedtheir way foot by foot within striking distance of dozing seals.Assistance had come to Blake in that manner, and he could see where--ontheir hands and knees--two men instead of one had stolen back throughthe moonlight.
Celie came to his side now, gripping the rifle in her hands. Her eyeswere wide and filled with frightened inquiry as she looked from thetell-tale trails in the snow into Philip's face. He was glad that shecould not question him in words. He slipped the Colt into its holsterand took the rifle from her hands. In the emergency which heanticipated the rifle would be more effective. That something wouldhappen very soon he was positive. If one Eskimo had succeeded ingetting ahead of his comrades to Blake's relief others of Upi's tribemust be close behind. And yet he wondered, as he thought of this, whyBlake and the Kogmollock had not killed him instead of running away.The truth he told frankly to Celie, thankful that she could notunderstand.
"It was the gun," he said. "They thought I had only closed my eyes, andwasn't asleep. If something hadn't kept that gun leveled over myknee--" He tried to smile, knowing that with every second the end mightcome for them from out of the gray mist of moonlight and shadow thatshrouded the shore. "It was a one-man job, sneaking out like that, andthere's sure a bunch of them coming up fast to take a hand in the game.It's up to us to hit the high spots, my dear--an' you might pray God togive us time for a start."
If he had hoped to keep from her the full horror of their situation, heknew, as he placed her on the sledge, that he had failed. Her eyes toldhim that. Intuitively she had guessed at the heart of the thing, andsuddenly her arms reached up about his neck as he bent over her andagainst his breast he heard the sobbing cry that she was trying hard tochoke back. Under the cloud of her hair her warm, parted lips lay for athrilling moment against his own, and then he sprang to the dogs.
They had already roused themselves and at his command began sullenly todrag their lame and exhausted bodies into trace formation. As thesledge began to move he sent the long lash of the driving whip curlingviciously over the backs of the pack and the pace increased. Straightahead of them ran the white trail of the Coppermine, and they were soonfollowing this with the eagerness of a team on the homeward stretch. AsPhilip ran behind he made a fumbling inventory of the loose riflecartridges in the pocket of his coat, and under his breath prayed toGod that the day would come before the Eskimos closed in. Only onething did he see ahead of him now--a last tremendous fight for Celie,and he wanted the light of dawn to give him accuracy. He had thirtycartridges, and it was possible that he could put up a successfulrunning fight until they reached Armin's cabin. After that fate woulddecide. He was already hatching a scheme in his brain. If he failed toget Blake early in the fight which he anticipated he would show thewhite flag, demand a parley with the outlaw under pretense ofsurrendering Celie, and shoot him dead the moment they stood face toface. With Blake out of the way there might be another way of dealingwith Upi and his Kogmollocks. It was Blake who wanted Celie. In Upi'seyes there were other things more precious than a woman. The thoughtrevived in him a new thrill of hope. It recalled to him the incident ofFather Breault and the white woman nurse who, farther west, had beenheld for ransom by the Nanamalutes three years ago. Not a hair of thewoman's head had been harmed in nine months of captivity. Olaf Andersonhad told him the whole story. There had been no white man there--onlythe Eskimos, and with the Eskimos he believed that he could deal now ifhe succeeded in killing Blake. Back at the cabin he could easily havesettled the matter, and he felt like cursing himself for hisshortsightedness.
In spite of the fact that he had missed his main chance he began now tosee more than hope in a situation that five minutes before had been oneof appalling gloom. If he could keep ahead of his enemies untildaybreak he had a ninety percent chance of getting Blake. At some spotwhere he could keep the Kogmollocks at bay and scatter death among themif they attacked he would barricade himself and Celie behind the sledgeand call out his acceptance of Blake's proposition to give up Celie asthe price of his own safety. He would demand an interview with Blake,and it was then that his opportunity would come.
But ahead of him were the leaden hours of the gray night! Out of thatghostly mist of pale moonlight through which the dogs were travelinglike sinuous shadows Upi and his tribe could close in on him silentlyand swiftly, unseen until they were within striking distance. In thatevent all would be lost. He urged the dogs on, calling them by thenames which he had heard Blake use, and occasionally he sent the longlash of his whip curling over their backs. The surface of theCoppermine was smooth and hard. Now and then they came to stretches ofglare ice and at these intervals Philip rode behind Celie, staring backinto the white mystery of the night out of which they had come. It wasso still that the click, dick, click of the dogs' claws sounded likethe swift beat of tiny castanets on the ice. He could hear the pantingbreath of the beasts. The whalebone runners of the sledge creaked withthe shrill protest of steel traveling over frozen snow. Beyond thesesounds there were no others, with, the exception of his own breath andthe beating of his own heart. Mile after mile of the Coppermine droppedbehind them. The last tree and the last fringe of bushes disappeared,and to the east, the north, and the west there was no break in the vastemptiness of the great Arctic plain. Ever afterward the memory of thatnight seemed like a grotesque and horrible dream to him. Looking back,he could remember how the moon sank out of the sky and utter darknessclosed them in and how through that darkness he urged on the tireddogs, tugging with them at the lead-trace, and stopping now and then inhis own exhaustion to put his arms about Celie and repeat over and overagain that everything was all right.
After an eternity the dawn came. What there was to be of day followedswiftly, like the Arctic night. The shadows faded away, the shoresloomed up and the illimitable sweep of the plain lifted itself intovision as if from out of a great sea of receding fog. In the quarterhour's phenomenon between the last of darkness and wide day Philipstood straining his eyes southward over the white path of theCoppermine. It was Celie, huddled close at his side, who turned hereyes first from the trail their enemies would follow. She faced thenorth, and the cry that came from her lips brought Philip about like ashot. His first sensation was one of amazement that they had not yetpassed beyond the last line of timber. Not more than a third of a miledistant the river ran into a dark strip of forest that reached in fromthe western plain like a great finger. Then he saw what Celie had seen.Close up against the timber a spiral of smoke was rising into the air.He made out in another moment the form of a cabin, and the look inCelie's staring face told him the rest. She was sobbing breathlesswords which he could not understand, but he knew that they had wontheir race, and that it was Armin's place. And Armin was no
t dead. Hewas alive, as Blake had said--and it was about breakfast time. He hadheld up under the tremendous strain of the night until now--and now hewas filled with an uncontrollable desire to laugh. The curious thingabout it was that in spite of this desire no sound came from histhroat. He continued to stare until Celie turned to him and swayed intohis arms. In the moment of their triumph her strength was utterly gone.And then the thing happened which brought the life back into him againwith a shock. From far up the black finger of timber where it belliedover the horizon of the plain there floated down to them a chorus ofsound. It was a human sound--the yapping, wolfish cry of an Eskimohorde closing in on man or beast. They had heard that same cry close onthe heels of the fight in the clearing. Now it was made by many voicesinstead of two or three. It was accompanied almost instantly by theclear, sharp report of a rifle, and a moment later the single shot wasfollowed by a scattering fusillade. After that there was silence.
Quickly Philip bundled Celie on the sledge and drove the dogs ahead,his eyes on a wide opening in the timber three or four hundred yardsabove the river. Five minutes later the sledge drew up in front of thecabin. In that time they heard no further outcry or sound of gunfire,and from the cabin itself there came no sign of life, unless the smokemeant life. Scarcely had the sledge stopped before Celie was on herfeet and running to the door. It was locked, and she beat against itexcitedly with her little fists, calling a strange name. Standing closebehind her, Philip heard a shuffling movement beyond the log walls, thescraping of a bar, and a man's voice so deep that it had in it thebooming note of a drum. To it Celie replied with almost a shriek. Thedoor swung inward, and Philip saw a man's arms open and Celie run intothem. He was an old man. His hair and beard were white. This muchPhilip observed before he turned with a sudden, thrill toward the openin the forest. Only he had heard the cry that had come from thatdirection, and now, looking back, he saw a figure running swiftly overthe plain toward the cabin. Instantly he knew that it was a white man.With his revolver in his hand he advanced to meet him and in a briefspace they stood face to face.
The stranger was a giant of a man. His long, reddish hair fell to hisshoulders. He was bare-headed, and panting as if hard run, and his facewas streaming with blood. His eyes seemed to bulge out of their socketsas he stared at Philip. And Philip, almost dropping his revolver in hisamazement, gasped incredulously:
"My God, is it you--Olaf Anderson!"
The Golden Snare Page 24